Letters
by heatqueen
Summary: A look into Galinda's approach to academics, and why she hides behind ignorance and superficiality. Explores the theme of dyslexia.
1. Chapter 1

**Letters**

~ A 'Wicked' Fanfiction ~

~ By Heatqueen ~

 **A/N: This is an idea I've wanted to experiment with for a while. It may expand into a multi-chapter story, but I wanted to test it out as a small segment first. Reviews would be appreciated. Thanks and enjoy!**

Scribble.

The noise was grating on Galinda's ears. Heads bent, hands moving at the speed of light. All eyes down except hers. The occasional flap of a turning page; the odd sigh. A pout on Galinda's dainty mouth.

Green – on her right, pouring easy marks onto the page. White – the empty sheet beneath her. Also, the chalk on the blackboard. Squiggles and swirls that might have been written in jibberish. Galinda squinted. She knew her letters, one at a time, but in such huge numbers, they wouldn't stop moving around. Blink, blink. Still moving – quick, catch them!

A clock ticking, marking the seconds, the minutes, the hour that diminished at lightning speed. Sun pouring through the stained glass window, still peeking just above the horizon, warming Galinda's shoulder. If only she could get some fresh air, perhaps she might be able to think.

The Goat, sitting on his stool at the front of the room, his eyes scanning some thick novel through eyeglasses. Probably one of those tiny-lettered ones that academics so loved. _It's_ Ga _-linda, you stupid Goat._

Lines. She was supposed to write on them. They glared at her from the sheet, mocking her ignorance. What did the Goat say about the essay? Something about Munchkin farming history, not that anyone cared. The Munchkins were a world of their own, hanging out in grassy landscapes with cobble paths, sheep and mud. Who cared how they farmed as long as all of Oz got its food?

She inked the words 'Munchkin farming history', the brightness of the pink ink jumping out of the page. The dot of the 'i's drawn as circles. The bottom of the 'g' curled inwards. The 'o' not quite closed at the top. Each letter, a slightly different size and shape, giving an uneven and loopy appearance.

Next to her, Elphie flipped the page and scribbled on the back. Even if Galinda was the sort to consider cheating, Elphie's writing was far too small to read from such a distance. Each letter perfect, each sentence straight. Each point she made precise and clear, and backed up with evidence.

'Five minutes,' the Goat remarked.

Familiar words. Familiar tug in the stomach. Familiar feeling, her old friend, resignation, nestling itself deep in her soul. Familiar thoughts – _dumb blonde, not good enough._

Her shoulder cooled. The Goat called time.

Pens down. Pages filled. No more scribbling.

No more letters.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I was going to wait to post, but had a huge writing surge and ended up with the rest of it already. So here's a 2nd chapter, made up of lots of small little tidbits, and that'll probably be it. Also, no I don't have dyslexia. So I'm hoping this comes across realistic but don't know from experience.**

The paint went on, slick, wet and even, the work of a professional. The fumes, mingling with her rose scented diffuser, tickled her nostrils. Thank Oz Elphie had taken to the library, else the combination would send her on a furious tirade about the toxic properties of chemicals.

Sweet Oz, if only there were doctorates in nail painting, her life would be sorted. How she yearned for her essays to be as beautiful as her nails. Perhaps she ought to run a salon instead – but already, she could hear the judgemental tone of her mother informing her that such activities were relegated to the lower class. The wealthy Gillikinese prided their young ladies on a sound education and rich husband, not hard labour.

Galinda scoffed. Rich? It was all a grand illusion. Expensive-looking dresses bought at discount prices and tailored to appear as though they'd cost thousands. Carefully saved pennies spent on a scarce few, _select_ items that she kept for no purpose other than to show off their value. Sweet small talk that paved the way to creating the correct contacts that ensured an elevated status. Rich indeed.

But wealth, or any perception of it, did not solve her problems.

She jammed the brush back into the nail polish. Proud – that's what her parents had been when she got into Shiz. Clever Galinda Upland, of the Upper Uplands, for writing a superb entrance essay. An essay that had taken weeks to get right. Hours trapped in her room slaving over each paragraph, checking each word. She imagined Elphie's disbelief. Galinda dedicating herself to something?

No way would Elphie have spent four straight months on a mere entrance essay. Four hours, more likely.

But one did not have four months at Shiz University. Exams and such took place within one-hour slots, where there was scarcely time to gather her thoughts, let alone write them in any way that was coherent.

Nails – perfect. Nothing more to be done but wait for them to dry. Pale hands laid out in front of her, the pink sparkling off them. An hour gone. Funny that one could accomplish so much or so little in the same amount of time. An hour painting nails. An hour writing an essay.

Elphie returned and smelled roses and toxic fumes, and grumbled about them.

* * *

When threatened, one endeavours to remove the danger. And there Elphie sat, a perfect picture of all the things Galinda lacked. It was repulsive. Jet black hair tied in that same old braid that hung over her shoulder so as not to interfere with the line of sight from her eyes to her book. Hunched in that curled up position with her neck sinking into her shoulders in a way that couldn't possibly be good for her health. Eyes locked downwards, hands only moving to flick to the next page.

Galinda felt sick. This had to stop.

'Elphie.'

The green girl didn't move. No pause, no grunt in response, nothing. As if Galinda wasn't even there. Galinda couldn't fathom it. Reading herself into a state where the rest of the world didn't exist. She could scarcely hold onto one sentence without distraction.

'You know,' she drew out slowly, to ensure that each word was enunciated with the perfect tone to suggest that she possessed a great knowledge about it, 'as admirable as it is that you are capable of spending hours wrapped up in that book and so rudely ignoring the rest of the world, in my humble opinion, if one was to put down the book and endeavour to socialise more, one might find that they have more friends.'

At last, Elphie responded, marking her page in the book before slowly turning around in her chair. The corners of her lips twitched.

'You know,' she responded, equally as slowly, 'as admirable as it is that you care for my social life, in my humble opinion, if one was to endeavour to spend less time curling one's hair and more time studying, one might find that they have better grades.'

Promptly, she returned to her reading. Not a care for Galinda's feelings then. Not even since they forgave their rocky beginnings. There was no winning against Elphie's harsh reality check. Galinda's eyes found the mirror. Gold hair with a gentle curl, and the bright, blue eyes of a rich girl whose troubles were no one's fault but her own.

* * *

Opposite ends. Elphie on a pedestal, sky high with the brightest minds in Oz. Galinda at the bottom of the ladder, scrabbling to cling on. The only student beneath her, the playboy prince, Fiyero Tigelaar. He didn't show up.

The Goat, bleating about students who favoured form over content.

She folded her almost-blank paper and slipped the humiliating thing into her handbag. Red pen burned into her head. 'See me after class' – the sort of thing that happened to dopey school children, not bright university students.

She blocked out the scraping chairs, ignored Elphie's soft pat on her shoulder as the green girl slipped by and left. The Goat looked pitifully between her and Fiyero, his expression sending a wave of irritation. He blathered on about poor grades and work ethic and the importance of showing up to class. The same words directed at two very different students. The stupid Goat, unable to see that Galinda's problem did not stem from the dancing-through-life attitude of the prince.

'You need to retake the essay, and if you do not pass it this time then you will fail the class.'

Next to her, Fiyero smirked, and sauntered off without a care in the world.

As for Galinda, her resolve broke.

Paralysed by shock and fear, she slumped her head onto the table, her whole body trembling. Weeks of suppressed feelings pouring out through floodgates in her eyes. Her carefully constructed illusions wrecked. The old Goat stood there, not quite sure how to help, as she choked out disjointed monologues detailing her troubles. Never looking him in the eye; make-up smudging the table.

* * *

Once Galinda explained tearfully what had happened, and its resulting consequences, the green girl softened. The breakdown had led to an important revalation – that her disillusionment with the work had an explanation, and it only needed to be diagnosed for help to be put into place.

In fact, Elphie even showed remorse.

'I suppose it's hard for me to understand since I've never had those troubles,' she admitted in an oddly soft way. 'For all that I rattle on about not wanting people to make assumptions about me, it turns out I do the same thing.'

Galinda giggled, and they reminisced about their perilous beginnings, and discussed the ways in which people made assumptions about others.

'I assumed the old Goat was beneath me, and yet he's the one who's helping me,' said Galinda.

'The old Goat has a name. It's Doctor Dillamond.'

'Oh _that's_ it!'

Some days later came a day of tests. Not the sort that were destined to be failed, but the sort that had two resulting benefits: An explanation, and a plan. Following the tests came a report. The minute Galinda received it, she hurried back to her room and asked Elphie to read it for her. She breathed a deep sigh of relief to discover that there was a word for what she was experiencing.

'Dyslexia,' she said.

'Severe dyslexia,' Elphie confirmed.

'And they recommended support?'

'They did.'

Galinda smiled. For the first time, she felt as though she stood a chance.

* * *

'Tell me what you know about Munchkinland farming history, beginning with the development of trading practices over time.'

Galinda sat opposite Doctor Dillamond, her hands resting on her lap. She closed her eyes momentarily and drew the information to the front of her mind. Munchkinland's grassy hills, and the farmers at work, and the sheep and the mud, a beautiful painting. She knew this. She had covered this with Elphie last night, and had even spoken to Biq – _Boq_ – a little bit about it.

She opened her eyes. Looked up at Doctor Dillamond, who gave her a nod of encouragement. Then she looked down at the small microphone in front of her and spoke.


End file.
